To and Fro

The romance of the jilted lovers was seasonal,

Like how the jet streams shift and the tides reset.

At times, there were peaceful full moons and gentle waves.

The lovers danced along, two meshed silhouettes.

Then there were others where the romance was history,

Neglected temples and rusted statuettes.

When it died, their chemistry was burned with the bridges

As though methane splashed on a lit cigarette.

Yet, deep inside the soil, a sprout remained alive,

Blooming despite the constant threat of its death.

And so it went, blooming and growing through the good,

Hiding away until the danger offset.

Despite the danger, the tribulations, the hardships,

The bloom ensured they'd have nothing to regret.